


All the Way Down Your Spine

by alexenglish



Category: One Direction (Band), The Voice (Ireland) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Cam Model AU, Anal Sex, Camboy Niall, Coincidences, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Getting Together, M/M, Masturbation, Size Difference, Size Kink, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, home for the holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 00:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8869351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: Bressie kind of has a thing for the gorgeous, funny, sweet camboy he watches every week. It's not a big thing, but it's definitely a thing. Which is why he's double-taking at every blonde twenty-something he sees hoping -- well. He's being dumb about it, really.Kyle Kox is somewhere in America going to uni and playing soccer, and definitely not stood in the middle of Tesco in Mullingar.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tmeachhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmeachhh/gifts).



> I cannot BELIEVE the lack of camboy!Niall in the world, so this is my attempt to rectify that. Huge thanks to Kat for the beta as always, my eternal love is yours. This is for Tanisha, who yells with me about Nessie and gives me ideas and is all around awesome as hell.

This is all Eoghan’s fault. 

Eoghan will say that it’s Bressie’s fault, of course. That if he had just pulled that bloke at the bar -- the one with the dark, dark eyes and pretty face and big hands -- they wouldn’t have had the conversation in the first place. 

But since Bressie didn’t, it was apparently reasonable for Eoghan to demand to know _why_ Bressie refused to go home with a fit bloke who bought him drinks -- and touched his _arm_ and _smiled_ at him. And when Bressie told him that he’d rather just wank to porn and be done with it, it was apparently reasonable for Eoghan to chastise Bressie about the adult film industry. 

And it was reasonable, Bressie can admit. Eoghan got to talking about things Bressie hadn’t considered before that night, and yeah, it was reasonable, but that didn’t mean Bressie was _thrilled_ about it. 

Like a decent amount of people, Bressie grew up sneakily watching porn, hand down the front of his pants while he kept one eye on the door and the other on the screen. Porn was responsible for his sexual awakening, porn was a go-to when he needed to get off quickly -- but since the conversation with Eoghan, if he tries to pull up a video and have a good wank, he feels guilty and unsatisfied, and it’s not even worth the effort. 

Which is massively inconvenient when he’s single and finds pulling strangers too impersonal, and way too anxiety-inducing -- he doesn’t know if they want him to leave once he gets off, or in the morning; if they want him to sneak out, or stay for breakfast; he usually never has his phone charger, and he hates going to sleep knowing that his phone is dying -- 

All in all, it’s not an experience worth an orgasm or two, so he avoids it. Avoiding it means going a decent amount of time between hookups if he’s not seeing anyone, and that’s… frustrating. Sexually frustrating.

Naturally, the solution is to find an alternative, Bressie reasons, the first time he pulls up CamMates dot com. He hasn’t done this before, hasn’t looked at a streaming site, but it seems pretty straightforward; a plain site with square preview pictures of mostly naked models -- blokes, birds, the lot -- and a little green ‘online’ box in the corner if they’re streaming right then. Every model has their own profiles their information all filled out. Specialties, kinks, height, weight, age -- any detail you can think of, down to amount of body hair -- it’s all there. 

Some have links to their external sites that Bressie follows curiously. Those tend to be a bit more colorful -- a lot more naked bits to look at, external links, probably a greater threat of viruses if he’s not careful. It’s alright, though. Feels a bit like research as he finds some models that he thinks he might like watching, making note for later. 

It doesn’t take long to find Kyle Kox. 

From the look of his preview picture, Kyle’s some bleach blonde uni kid with a snapback settled over his head. He’s in a vest that shows off his arms, one hand gripping his cock through soft looking joggers. 

The cocky type that wants to do body shots and dance with you; the type Bressie would pull at a club. Maybe a bit guiltily, given how young he looks, but Bressie’s not too bothered as long as it’s legal, and the lad’s profile says it is. 21, from some place in the US, with a profile full of kinks; some that don’t interest Bressie at all, but some -- _pain kink, slapping, marking, domination, penetration_ \-- that definitely do. 

Kyle’s external site is a bright mess of colors and pictures of him with his arse out or a prick in his mouth. Smack dab in the middle there’s a video player streaming the cam site, with links to other videos that are with other people, actual pornos from the look of them. There’s pages of erotic photoshoots that are so high quality, Bressie can see the individual shades of blue in Kyle’s eyes, the thin ring of contacts around his irises, the barely-there sun freckles on his flushed cheeks, the bumpy texture of his pink tongue -- stuck out for whoever came on his face. 

He looks excited to be getting photographed on his knees with his mouth open, and maybe that’s what draws Bressie to him in the first place; how gorgeous he looks, how much he seems to be enjoying himself.

The first time Bressie tunes in, he doesn’t join the chat log, he just watches. Kyle starts by saying hello to people, spouting off usernames as he leans closer to the screen, blue-white of the LCD reflecting brightly off his face. From this close, Bressie can see the flower-petal blue of his eyes as Kyle scans the screen in front of him; a smile for one person, an offhanded comment for another. 

It’s casual, sweet almost, like you could forget you’re not looking at a stranger, but talking to your friend or something instead -- if your friend were about to take off his trousers for you.

Kyle knocks his snapback back on his head by reaching behind him and yanking down on the bill. The snap in the middle of his forehead slides back, cap rimmed propped up like a cheeky frat boy; even if the grin he aims at the webcam is a little sweeter than most frat boys. 

Kyle reaches into his joggers to tug on his cock, and when he pulls his hand out of his bottoms, Bressie can see the bulge of his dick against the soft fabric. The sight makes Bressie’s mouth water. It’s good to know that he’s definitely into this.

It ends up being tamer than Bressie expects. Apparently someone already tipped Kyle a decent amount to watch him come in his pants, so that’s what he does; grinding his palm down against his dick until he creams the inside of his white briefs, material going wet and translucent, clinging to the pink head of his cock. 

Afterwards, he’s gorgeous and flushed and smiling, and Bressie doesn't stop thinking about it for a week. 

The first time Kyle talks to him, Bressie's a bit drunk after a few pints with the lads. He begged off early under the pretense of needing to sleep for work, but truth is, it’s a Wednesday and Wednesday means Kyle is doing a show. 

It probably isn't the best routine to have, tuning into the show and watching some lad tug himself off to a virtual room full of strangers every week, but Bressie didn’t exactly feel _guilty_ about it. As a single ex-rugby player who owns his own recording label, he’s got money and time to spare, so why the hell not. 

This time Bressie is just tipsy enough to set his fingers to the keys and type out something embarrassing about leaving a red mark on Kyle’s arse as he fucks a dildo in and out of himself. 

Kyle huffs cutely and grins ruefully at the screen, “I do love getting spanked until my skin is all red, rugbyboy80 -- bet you’d all love to see to see that? My ass all bruised up --”

Bressie comes over his knuckles right then. 

Bressie keeps watching. Week after week, at least once a week. He memorizes the way Kyle looks when he comes -- the way his forearm flexes when he tugs on his cock, the way his stomach quivers when he holds a hitachi to the thin skin below his sack, the way his thighs shake when he lowers himself onto a dildo --

The way he likes to be a tease, taking it slow and drawing it out, touch himself unhurriedly, racking up tips -- sometimes taking hour to even get his cock out, so busy gripping himself through his trousers, teeth biting into his bottom lip, mouth absolutely filthy as he teases everyone with bright eyes.

Today, Kyle grins into the camera widely, tongue darting out to lick his lips. Bressie’s eyes follow the flash of pink as it disappears back behind Kyle’s teeth.

“Alright, so I don’t really do this anymore,” he says. There’s a perpetually smug quality to his voice that Bressie finds stupidly attractive. “But I’m taking bids for private shows this week since I’m going to be gone the next two weeks.”

The chat log starts to go crazy with replies, so quick and loud that Bressie has to turn down the volume on his laptop. Kyle laughs that wild, braying laugh of his and Bressie goes warm all over. It’s probably dumb to have a crush on a cam model who doesn’t know who the fuck you are, but…

Kyle leans back in his chair, still grinning, and Bressie can’t be bothered to take his eyes off him. 

“Bidding starts at 150 American for a half hour,” he says. 

The chat log starts to go off again. 150, 155, 175, 190 -- climbing so quickly that Kyle looks adorably wide-eyed, face going excited and bright like he can’t believe people would pay this much to get him one-and-one. 

“I don’t want to drag this on too long,” Kyle says, swivelling back and forth in his chair, face thoughtful. “I’m working extra at my day job this week to make up for the vacation, so I have to keep this short and sweet, y’know? I’ll give y’all a few more minutes.”

Bressie bites at his lip. He knows he’s going to do it, he knows he is. He just doesn’t know what amount to put -- what might be too much -- but he doesn’t want to lose out to someone else, either. And he doesn’t want to look too desperate by actively bidding against anyone. 

_Plus_ , he’s kind of annoyed that Kyle has to work extra to go on holiday. Bressie sighs and hits his number pad, resigned. Not like he wasn’t planning on tipping a ridiculous amount at the end like he always does, this time it’s just more obvious. 

Kyle shoots straight up in his chair when Bressie sits send, leaning in close to the screen. His nose wrinkles up, eyebrows raised. 

“Am I reading that right?” he asks, slowly. “ _500 bucks_ , rugbyboy80?”

Bressie’s hands are shaking a bit when he types back a simple ‘yes’. Kyle’s smile goes wide, eyes disappearing into his cheeks. 

“Shit, _sold_!” he says, smacking the top of his desk. “I’ll, uh, yeah --” His hands go to his keyboard, and a chat pops up in the bottom corner of Bressie’s screen -- he didn’t know it did that.

Kyle Kox  
_keepemkumming_ said:  
wanna face 2 face or r u watching?

Oh god, Kyle wants to see _him_? Bressie’s heart seizes up in his chest before it starts pounding faster, palms going tingly from the crash of adrenaline. On the screen, Kyle’s talking again as the chat log goes off, asking him not to abandon them for a private show.

Kyle’s whole head tips back as he laughs delightedly, and Bressie suddenly, fucking _fiercely_ doesn’t want to be just another anonymous user for him.

 _Rugbyboy80_ said:  
we can face 2 face 

Kyle Kox  
_keepemkumming_ said:  
kk I’ll call u soon :*

Bressie wipes his palms on his trousers and watches Kyle grin at the screen, twirling in his chair. 

“Alright, alright, I’m out y’all,” he says, with a shy sort of grin, shoving his hand through his hair. “Thanks for tuning in. I’m glad you came. Thank you for your generous bids, seriously, that was… wow. I guess -- don’t forget to leave a tip on the way out and mark ‘em as gifts.”

Kyle makes a heart with both his hands before leaning forward and cutting off the feed. The stream goes black and the chat goes off again in protest. 

Bressie leans back in his chair and waits, unsure about what he’s supposed to do next. 

_Kyle Kox has sent a video invite…_

Bressie has to take two fortifying breaths and wipe his sweaty hands on his trousers before he can hit the ‘accept’ button. 

Kyle’s looking down when the screen pops up, and Bressie feels his breath hitch in his chest when he sees the smudge of Kyle’s lashes against the top of his cheek. It’s so much more intense now that Bressie knows no one else is even _seeing_ this. 

When Kyle looks up, he freezes, eyes going wide. “Holy fucking shit,” he says, one long exhale.

“I, uh,” Bressie adjusts in his seat, squinting at himself in the little window tucked into the corner of his screen. He looks… normal. 

“You’re hot as fuck,” Kyle says, offering Bressie a cheeky smile. Bressie shifts nervously, not knowing what to say. 

“Thank you,” Bressie says, instead of something like ‘you too’. Kyle probably already knows that, considering what he does on his down time.

“What should I call you?” Kyle asks. Small talk, right.

“Niall,” Bressie says, quickly. Most people don’t even call him Niall anymore, not since rugby where Breslin turned to Bressie, and it stuck with everyone except his mum and dad. For some reason, he wants to keep this separate from that so... Niall.

Bressie’s so caught up in his own head, he doesn’t realize Kyle’s gone still, looking at him with a small frown on his face. Bressie fidgets. 

“Niall’s fine,” he tries again. 

Kyle blinks at him a few times. “Sorry, that’s a strange name. Never heard that before.”

“I didn’t think you would have,” Bressie says, trying to laugh the tension loose.. “It’s a bit Irish.”

“Irish -- right, the accent -- ‘course.” Kyle’s words run into each other, and Bressie laughs a bit, watching Kyle’s cheeks flush pink. Maybe he’s not the only one who’s nervous. 

“‘M in England currently,” Bressie says,shrugging at the indecipherable look on Kyle’s face. “But Ireland is home.”

“Alright, _Niall_ ,” Kyle says, heavy emphasis on Bressie’s name, smile sliding into place. His eyelashes flutter cutely as he knocks his snapback up. “Gift me some dough through Paypal and we can get started.”

Kyle drops the link into the chat log with a flourish, stretching his arms above his head while Bressie clicks all the right buttons. When the whole thing has gone through, Bressie feels the tension go up a notch. 

“And, I’m all yours,” Kyles says, voice dipping low, looking up at Bressie again. It’s the kind of tone he uses when he’s about to start saying filthy shite. “Wanna stand up for me, show me what I’m working with?”

It looks like Kyle’s eyes are sparkling at him. Could just be the light from the computer screen, but whatever it is, it’s charming. Bressie does as he told, clumsily pushing his chair back and stepping back so that the screen gets most of his body.

“How tall are you?” Kyle asks, eyeing Bressie’s whole body in one hungry, sweeping gaze. Bressie feels himself flush from the scrutiny, resisting the urge to preen at the impressed look on Kyle’s face.

“1.98m,” Bressie says, flapping his arms a bit before sitting down. Kyle adjusts his cap and wrinkles his nose.

“So, like, 6 and a half feet?” he asks, tilting his head cutely. Right, American. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Bressie says, even though he’s not positive. Conversions were never his strong suit. 

“Fuck, that’s somethin’,” Kyle says, voice still full of awe. “Bet your cock’s a fucking monster.”

Bressie nearly chokes on air. Right to it, then. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, resisting the urge to press a giggle into his shoulder and hide his face. “It’s proportional.”

“‘Course it is,” Kyle says, voice like a purr, hand dropping into his lap. Bressie watches his forearm flex as he palms his cock absently. The sight makes Bressie’s heart rate jump. 

“Did you have anything in mind?” Kyle asks, after a moment, like he knows Bressie’s not sure what he should do. He knows he’s being shy and probably boring, but Kyle’s attention is overwhelming and Bressie’s tongue feels thick. “There’s not much I won’t do for that much money.”

He winks happily. 

Bressie tries to look thoughtful, but truthfully, he doesn’t have anything in mind. The whole point was to get Kyle alone, and now that they’re alone, well…

“I like what you normally do,” Bressie admits. There’s a pretty large range of things Kyle ‘normally does’ -- from wanking to fucking himself open with a vibrator to fucking his own mouth, body all bent in half -- there’s a lot to choose from. It’s all a bit overwhelming, if he’s being honest. “Wanking, talking.”

“You paid 500 bucks to sit here and jerk off with me?” Kyle asks, but he’s grinning, like he can’t quite believe it. Bressie shrugs, feeling self-conscious. 

The look on Kyle’s face gets soft -- and Bressie has the thought that it’s harder like this, more personal than he anticipated; not that Bressie thought it wasn't going to be personal, but sat alone in front of Kyle makes it so much more intimate, despite the fact that they’re separated by so much fucking distance.

“You seem a bit shy,” Kyle decides, leaning back in his chair, rubbing at his smooth jaw thoughtfully. “Let me do the talking, yeah?”

“I like when you talk,” Bressie says, with a sheepish grin. “Right filthy feckin’ mouth.”

Kyle laughs brightly at that, tipping his head back. The column of his neck is thick and pale, and Bressie wants to suck marks into it, purple up his skin. Groaning, Bressie presses his palm down on his dick as it starts to take interest.

“I can do that,” Kyle says, adjusting the camera so it’s pointed at his lap more. Bressie copies him. “Are you hard yet?”

“Almost,” Bressie admits, hand still on his lap. Kyle’s eyes flick down to Bressie’s crotch and back up again, teeth biting into his lip. 

“Shit, I am,” Kyle says, thighs spreading wide as his hand dips into his joggers. He tugs the waistband down without any production, tucking it under his balls. Sure enough, his cock is hard, slapping up against his vest when it pops free of his trousers. It’s a proper porn cock, thick and long. Looking at it makes Bressie’s mouth water a bit. “Just lookin’ at you, honestly. Thinkin’ about how big your cock must be.”

“Fuck,” Bressie sighs, watching Kyle’s hand move over his dick, slow and teasing, eyes on Bressie. 

Bressie’s older now, can’t get hard in half a second like a school boy, but he’s there as soon as Kyle licks over his palm and touches himself again, pushing the bottom of his shirt up his abs. There’s a hint of pale stomach, the ridge of Kyle’s hipbones, and Bressie can’t stop imaging bruises all over his skin. 

“Wanna show me?” Kyle asks, breathless, hips hitching up like he can’t help himself. Hands shaking a bit, Bressie nods and pushes everything down his legs, letting it all fall to his ankles. He can feel himself go red-hot as Kyle stares him down, pulse pounding away in his ears. “Shit, it is huge.”

Bressie’s strokes himself to distract from the embarrassment, sighing with the slide of his foreskin over his aching cock. It feels like he’s breathing too hard already, air warm and tight with tension.

“Fuck, you look thick. I wonder if I could even sit on that,” Kyle says, breathlessly. The whites of his eyes flash as they dart all over, like he doesn’t know where to look first. 

“Bet I’d need four fingers first,” Kyle continues, with a little groan that Bressie can’t help but echo, thinking about it, thinking about Kyle’s slight body under his hands, his fingers buried inside Kyle while Kyle begs for more. 

When Kyle meets Bressie’s eyes again, his teeth are back to tugging at his bottom lip, thumb over the head of his cock. Bressie copies him for something to do, moaning, and Kyle echoes him. 

“Shit, yeah, like that, I wanna see how you touch yourself.” 

With Kyle watching, Bressie tries to stroke himself with a bit more confidence -- tries to remember exactly _how_ he likes to touch himself with all the static in his brain -- the bottom of his spine going tight. He knows he’d come if he really committed himself to it. It’s good like this, knowing that Kyle’s looking at _him_. 

“Can’t decide what I want to do first,” Kyle whines, hips squirming as his hand picks up pace again. “Get my mouth on your cock, or get your cock in my ass.” 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Bressie says, exhaling. He doesn’t know which one he’d like more either, but he knows he’d love to hold onto Kyle’s face and fuck his mouth proper, hands in his hair and on his jaw while Kyle drools around him. 

“Wanna suck you down until I’m gagging,” Kyle says, reading Bressie’s mind. He does something to himself that makes him moan, makes his mouth go slack and soft, helping Bressie with the visual. “See if you could keep from coming when your cock hits the back of my throat.”

Bressie groans, hand tightening without him truly thinking about it, legs spreading, thighs flexing as he presses his toes to the ground. 

“Bet you could pick me up and fuck me into the wall,” Kyle says, sounding breathless. His voice is thoughtless, less deliberate, like he’s saying the first thing that comes to his mind. Bressie didn’t realize Kyle might have a script until now, when he can hear the tone change, see the curiosity all over Kyle’s face. “Fold me in half and pound my ass until I can’t walk. Make me really feel it -- make me think about your thick cock inside of me all day.”

“Yeah, I could do that,” Bressie says, teeth biting into his lip, feeling silly and self-conscious, but Kyle looks thrilled that Bressie answered him, smiling in that filthy way of his. 

“Bet you’d love that,” he says, voice low. “Tear me up, smack me around.”

Bressie groans, “fuck, yeah.” He would, he’s thought about it. Thought about Kyle’s skin going red from Bressie’s nails and teeth and hand, leaving bruises all over him the way that he’s heard Kyle talk about liking so much. 

“I’d let you mark me up, all stretched out around your cock, handprint on my ass.”

“ _Kyle_ ,” is all Bressie says.

“Shit, yeah --” Kyle says, planting his feet and tugging on his cock faster.

The wet slap of Kyle’s hand on his dick is nearly drowned out by the rush of blood in Bressie’s ears. He speeds up his hand to match Kyle’s pace, watching as Kyle’s abs flex and his hips lift, eyes screwing shut tightly. Bressie watches him come all over his knuckles, come splashing up his chest. 

Kyle laughs brightly and wipes the back of his hand across his chin, tongue dipping out to lick up the mess there. There’s a hectic red flush to Kyle’s cheeks, and his chest is heaving, but he leans forward, chest shiny with come, and urges Bressie on. 

“Come on, come for me, Niall,” he says, eyes bright. “I want to see you come all over yourself from watchin’ me -- wish I could sink down on your cock right now and ride you until you’re coming so fucking hard --”

Bressie comes with a jolt, image of Kyle spread over his lap, hands gripping Kyle’s arse tight as he bounces up and down, hips working to get Bressie to come inside him. Kyle curling up into him afterwards as Bressie stays buried in him and tries to get him hard again, see if they could go again.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re sexy,” Kyle says, with a satisfied sigh, dropping against the back of his seat. He giggles a bit. “Shit, I meant to make that last longer.”

“Sorry?” Bressie asks, still loosely grip his cock, not sure what to do with himself now that the high from being so turned on is wearing off and he’s half naked in front of a virtual stranger.

“Nah, just means you’re irresistible,” Kyle says, with a wink, wiping himself off with his vest before balling it up and throwing it behind him. Bressie watches him tuck himself back into his joggers mournfully. “Gunna clean up, big guy?”

“Thinking about it,” Bressie says, resigned. There’s jizz all over his hands and Kyle’s just _watching_ him, so he licks it up, eyes deadlocked with Kyle’s. 

“Oh holy _shit_ ,” Kyle says, watching as Bressie cleans up his own fingers and sucks them into his mouth. “I want your mouth on my fucking dick.”

Bressie flushes deeply, groping around for his shirt to clean himself up, tucking his soft cock back into his trousers. “You don’t have to keep talking,” he says, with a self-conscious laugh. “We both came.”

“I’m not just _talking_ ,” Kyle says, affronted. He fixes his snapback from where it’s slightly skewed, laughing brightly. “If I met you on the street, I’d hit it so fucking fast your head would spin.”

“Nah, I’m an old man,” Bressie says, with a dismissive laugh. Kyle is sweet, but he could probably pull anyone on the goddamn planet. 

“Not _even_ ,” Kyle says, with a little pout, but he lets it drop, leaning in again. They stare at each other for a beat. Bressie has no idea what to say, so he waits. Instead of saying goodbye, Kyle says, “You over bid.”

“I-I didn’t,” Bressie says, clearing his throat, feeling himself flush all over again. This whole video call has been a practice in Bressie being bashful as hell and not knowing what to do with himself. “Just liked that private session idea.”

“Sure,” Kyle says, drawing the word out with a smirk. “Well, you saved me from extra shifts, so I appreciate it.”

“Alright,” Bressie says, ducking his head to hide his smile. 

Kyle’s smiling widely, still shirtless and gorgeous, wet streaks across his skin where he didn’t get all his come. Bressie wants to lick him all over. The call’s going to end soon, and Bressie really doesn’t want it to, but he paid and they got off and now there’s no reason to still be talking, not really. 

“I guess I’ll see you around, Niall,” Kyle says, with a little hiccupping giggle and blows Bressie a kiss.

“See ya,” Bressie says, giving a salute, tips of his ears hot. They’re still ringing from all the adrenaline of the moment, a weird mix of post-orgasmic comedown and being wired from getting off with someone over a _webcam_. 

The screen goes black with Bressie’s heart still trying to beat straight out of his chest. 

 

 

There was no time to watch Kyle’s last show before the holiday vacation he took. Which was fine. Bressie had things to do. Working, getting things in order before his own holiday to Mullingar. It didn’t matter. 

Besides, after the whole face-to-face thing, Bressie needs a moment to gather his wits. There probably wasn’t a chance of Kyle saying anything directly to him, but he didn’t want to risk it. And it’s not like Bressie would _miss_ the lad, or anything. 

The problem is, he can’t stop fucking thinking about it. About Kyle’s attention on him, his bright eyes, his easy smile. The pretty pink of his cock as he wanked it, thighs flexing on the up-thrust. The way he seemed curious about Bressie, even though he didn’t have to be. And alright, Kyle’s the type of person that makes you feel special when he’s talking at you, but it’s got Bressie’s head all done in anyway.

A crush on a camboy. 

Eoghan would die if he knew. Which is why Bressie doesn’t say anything. Just keeps his mouth shut and suffers over it in peace, heart leaping every time he sees a skinny whip uni student with a blonde dye job. 

There are more blokes around that are similar to Kyle than Bressie even realized. They’re everywhere, making Bressie tense up at every turn, mind going a thousand miles an hour, fixated on this lad. 

He was on the train with Eoghan before he left London when he saw someone who could be Kyle from the back. Honestly, he was just a blonde with a hat on, not even turned facing Bressie, but Bressie’s heart kicked in his chest anyway, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to look at the lad’s face…

No matter that Kyle’s American, and definitely wasn’t in London, Bressie’s brain _didn’t care_. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Eoghan asked, as Bressie moved obviously again, trying to catch the blonde’s reflection in the the window at least.

“Nothing,” Bressie said, quickly, settling back. He could feel his face heat up, and Eoghan arched his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed with Bressie’s lie. “Just worn out, can’t wait to see me parents. Gettin’ antsy.”

“I can’t wait to see them either,” Eoghan said, poorly restrained excitement creeping into his voice. 

He loves Bressie’s parents almost as much as Bressie does. They grew up together in Dublin before Bressie moved to London -- Eoghan followed because he couldn’t stand to be away from Bressie, and now they spend winter holidays split between Bressie’s family and Eoghan’s. This year, they’re headed to Mullingar and then Dublin, back home for the new year.

“A couple more days,” Bressie said, tipping his head back against the seat and absolutely not looking in the direction of the lad on the train.

He figured the trip back home will help clear his head a bit. Mullingar’s a small place with great air and less crowded Tescos. Moving his parents out here was a smart choice, one he’s grateful for when London gets too hectic. Usually he flies out, lounges around on their couch, and ends up feeling massively better about his life. 

‘Course now that he’s stood in the middle of the aisle at the store, watching a bottle blonde stretch on his tiptoes to reach detergent on the top shelf, he realizes his mistake. There’s no escaping this, apparently. 

Bressie sighs and makes his way over. It’s not the lad’s fault that he looks similar to a certain cam model from behind -- Bressie should help rather than stare at the back of his head. 

He reaches out from side and snags the box easily, looking down to see the bloke staring back at him. Bressie has to blink about a hundred times to clear his head, because this blonde looks _exactly_ like Kyle. 

Bright blue eyes, dimpled chin, straight nose that goes soft at the end. His cheeks are flushed red, pink mouth soft and gaping at Bressie in surprise. There are black framed glasses perched on his nose and his hair is soft and flat, but other than that, he looks so much like Kyle that Bressie has to take a deep breath and step back, confused.

“Here y’ go,” he says, offering the lad the box of detergent after a loaded pause. 

“Cheers, mate,” is the reply he gets as it’s taken from him gingerly. The bloke frowns at the box and doesn’t make eye contact. “Couldn’t reach it for the life of me.”

The thick Irish accent isn’t anything like Kyle’s, and Bressie feels something in his spine loosen up considerably. Right, exactly. Why the hell would Kyle be in the middle of a store in Mullingar? There’d be no way.

“No problem,” Bressie says, offering the lad a smile that he hopes is convincing. “Gotta use all this height for somethin’, right?”

“Powers for good, and all that,” the bloke says, finally looking up. His eyes drag down Bressie’s body in a way that’s _obvious_ , and now it’s Bressie’s turn to blush, face heating up considerably.

Bressie puts more distance between them, shrugging, not sure what to do with the attention. He’s not a stranger to being look at, but this feels different, somehow. The lad chews on his bottom lip and looks like he’s going to say something else, but he shakes his head instead and ends up smiling back, mouth curling sweetly.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says, sidestepping Bressie and saluting him with the box. “Thanks again.”

“Not a problem,” Bressie says, watching him walk away, still feeling dazed. The lad’s wearing a coat, but it’s cinched at the waist so that Bressie can see the way his torso tapers from his wide shoulders to his hips -- probably just a handful, if Bressie’s estimation is correct. He could probably palm the bloke’s whole belly if he wanted to, and a hot shiver runs down his spine, thinking about a small, warm body under his -- and _Christ_ , Bressie needs to get laid. 

Sooner rather than fuckin’ later, so he can stop having dirty thoughts about every blonde lad that he comes across like a pervy old man. Bressie sighs and drags a hand over his face, winding his way through the aisles to pick up everything he needs for his parents. 

It’s a welcome distraction, having to look for everything. His mum must’ve left the shopping until he got in, list considerably large. There’s household things on top of food, on _top_ of all the things that he needs to get for the Breslin Holiday Bash that she’s decided to throw. The first year in Mullingar, and she’s already made herself neighborhood hostess. 

He lost track of how many ‘get togethers’ she told him about over the summer and into fall. A special little party for every May flower and August leaf change. Bressie’s sure they’re a hit, and he can’t wait to see her in action, but that doesn’t mean he has to like buying up all the whole store like she does. 

At least this way, he can put it on his card, and she can’t argue with him about it. 

She texts him not to go to the Tesco butcher for meat, and he doesn’t argue; one less thing to check off. The boot’s still full when he’s all done, and it takes half a dozen trips to bring everything inside, but she’s pleased and beaming at him when he gets home, so he figures it was worth it. 

The kitchen’s already warm from the oven, and his mum has a counter full of vegetables that need to be chopped, so Bressie washes his hand and gets to work while she talks at him about her life as if they don’t speak every other day. 

“Tomorrow, I’ll have you run over to the Horan’s,” she says, hauling out pots and pans to put on the stove. A slab of butter goes in each one, sizzling as she points her wooden spoon at him. “Bobby stopped workin’ at that Tesco and opened his own place, did I tell ya? That’s why I told you not to stop for meat, he’ll have it ready tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Bressie says agreeably. 

Bobby Horan seems like a good man. One of the first that welcomed Bressie’s parents when they moved in. From what his dad’s been saying, Bobby gets along with them like a house on fire, keeps them company more often than not, with his ex-wife gone and sons moved out. 

“One of his boys came to visit for the holiday, finally,” his mum continues, pushing around the vegetables in the pan. The smell of sauteing vegetables fills the air, thick and savory. “I invited him on Saturday, of course.”

“Okay,” Bressie says, raising an eyebrow at her. She shrugs at him and smiles widely. 

“I heard he’s a nice boy,” she says, something sly in her voice that immediately makes him suspicious. 

“The young one, innit?” his dad says, coming into the kitchen. He scoots past Bressie’s mum and presses a kiss to her hair before he wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. “Bressie doesn’t need you to play matchmaker. Do’ya son?”

“No, sir,” Bressie says, definitely not thinking about Kyle and the fact that maybe he _does_ need his mum to set him up with someone -- maybe not Bobby’s boy, or anyone all the way out here in Mullingar -- okay, he doesn’t need her to set him up at all, but if she did, that would be a _start_ at least. Help him get a certain cam model out of his big, dumb head.

Bressie salutes his dad with his knife sarcastically, only messing a bit. 

 

 

The worst thing about Mullingar being a small town is the fact that he can walk into Bobby Horan’s shop and see that fuckin’ blonde from the Tesco sat there like he owns the place. The bell chimes, and the lad looks up, eyes going wide so quickly Bressie’s worried he’s hurt himself.

The shop’s quiet for half a beat too long. Bressie can hear the blood rushing in his ears from how hard his heart starts pounding. From across the shop, Bressie can actually _see_ the way the bloke’s cheeks color up, pale skin going pink. 

“Alright, Niall?” comes a voice from the back, and the bloke’s head whips around towards the door between the counter and the back room at the same time Bressie’s does.

“S’fine, Bobby,” the lad says -- Niall. Something in Bressie’s chest goes weird at the coincidence -- ‘Niall’ isn’t exactly an _uncommon_ name, but it’s not the most popular either. Bressie remembers the way Kyle went still as a spooked rabbit when Bressie said his name was Niall, and isn’t sure what to make of the whole thing.

“Sorry,” Niall says, ducking his head sheepishly. He seems unaffected, so Bressie just shoves away the little voice trying to talk nonsense at him. “Spaced out there. What can I get you?”

“Meat, preferably,” Bressie says, trying to shake off the tension that’s so obviously in the air still. He decides to ignore it, and shouts towards the back, “some quality stuff, Horan.”

There’s a bark of laughter and Bressie sees Bobby’s face through the viewing window, arms all bloody up to the elbows. They’ve only seen each other a few times, but the familiarity settles something in Bressie that he didn’t know was shaken.

“Well, shit, Niall Breslin,” Bobby says. “Weren’t talking to you, but here you are!” 

Bressie hears the snap of gloves and some movement behind the doors. A sink sputters to life as Bobby whistles and cleans the blood off him, Bressie’s hoping. He chances a glance at the blonde lad, Niall, but he’s got his eyes glued to the viewing window now, not looking in Bressie’s direction at all. 

“Niall, lad,” Bobby says, when the door swings open and he’s stood behind the counter. “This is Bressie. ‘Bout time you met.”

“Bressie,” Niall says, tilting his head at Bobby, before he finally turns at meets Bressie’s eyes. “Right. Rugby Bressie.”

“That’s me,” Bressie says, laughing awkwardly. The whole thing is edging closer to being very weird. Even Bobby is picking up on it, eyes darting being Bressie and Niall like he’s trying to figure something out. 

“Niall did rugby too, when he was a lad,” Bobby says, after a tick, probably trying to clear the air of the tension. 

“Did ya?” Bressie asks, curiously, going along with Bobby’s attempt to steer the conversation in a productive direction. Niall’s mouth is tight around the corners, and Bressie doesn’t like the look of it.

“I did,” Niall finally says, before he sticks his hand out towards Bressie. “Nice to meet you.” 

Bressie takes it and tries not to think about the way their hands fold together -- Niall’s are smaller and square and there are callouses on his palms. 

“Would’a met sooner, but Niall’s studying in London,” Bobby says, cheerfully, hand clapping Niall’s shoulder. Niall’s attention diverts and he grins at Bobby. “Can barely make time for his dear old da.”

“You’re not old,” Niall says, elbowing Bobby’s ribs gently. “I’m at uni eatin’ leftover curry, can’t hop a flight every weekend.”

“Dunno,” Bobby says, ruffling a hand through Niall’s hair. “Got some posh clothes with that new job of yours, maybe you should buy less caps and shoes.”

Niall looks properly abashed, head ducking. His gaze sweeps up to Bressie, before it jumps away, and he shrugs, cheeks going ruddy from embarrassment. 

“Maybe,” he agrees, but doesn’t continue the banter, legs kicking out and hitting the stool, ringing dully.

“I’m in London, too,” Bressie says, because he can, eyes on Niall’s face. It stays impassive when Niall looks up, but Niall makes an interested noise, so Bressie continues. “Doin’ work out there, but my parents are here and I needed a proper holiday.”

“‘Course you did,” Niall says, but it’s not dismissive or unkind. He smiles a bit, and it feels like an olive branch that Bressie can't ignore. He grins back at Niall, feeling satisfaction curl in his gut when Niall’s smile gets wider. 

“Alright then,” Bobby says, tone so heavy with amusement that Bressie feels caught out. “We gettin’ you those cuts your mum wanted?”

Bressie nods, feeling out of sorts. He keeps sneaking glances at Niall, who’s typing furiously on his phone, teeth dug into his bottom lip like he’s afraid it’ll wander off his face. 

The thing is, Bressie _knows_ that face. Knows the look on Niall’s face -- it’s the same as the look Kyle gets when he’s scrolling through the chat log on slow nights, looking for something to do. 

Maybe Niall has a very impressive doppelganger in the States. He’s still wearing glasses, so that could make a difference. This could be a massive coincidence that Bressie’s mind has blown right out of proportion. Just because Niall’s _so_ familiar that Bressie’s stomach is in knots doesn’t mean anything. Probably means he’s a proper creep dwelling on it like he is. 

His treacherous brain reminds him that Kyle wears contacts, and he decides that he’s done thinking about this. It’s not healthy to fixate. He’s too old to fixate. He’s done fixating. 

Niall’s still on his phone, so Bressie wanders, looking at the pictures on the wall. Family photos, customer photos. They make the shop look more personal; worn picture frames around faded photographs next to newer pictures, collages of square photos like the ones that get printed off an Instax. 

When he turns back to the counter, Niall’s watching him with a frown. He startles when he realizes he’s been caught, head ducking to look at his phone again, cheeks still unrelentingly red and ruddy. There’s a moment where Bressie’s sure he’s going to be ignored, but he hears Niall exhale noisily before he looks up again. 

“So, visiting?” he says, slowly, stilted. Bressie raises both eyebrows, but ambles back to the counter, leaning his hip against it. 

“Yeah, just for week before I have to get back to work,” he admits. “Regular 9 to 5. I’m too old for rugby now.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Niall says. After a beat, his eyes widen. “Not that you’re _old_ , just like old _er_ \--”

Bressie laughs outright, unable to help it. “I know what you mean. Either way, I’m a bit older than you.”

It’s a sad attempt at fishing. Niall’s chin tilts up as he gives Bressie a considering look. 

“Sure,” he replies, airly. “‘M 21.”

Of course Niall's the same age as Kyle. ‘Course he is.

“Ah, so you’re young enough for rugby still,” Bressie says.

“Yeah, proper age,” Niall agrees, with a little shrug before he smiles teasingly. “Got this bum knee, though. Don't got an interest in getting knocked on my arse all day.”

“You don’t?” Bressie asks, amused. 

“Not that way, at least,” Niall says, voice going low even as his face flushes.

Bressie tries not to laugh, but it doesn’t work. To his delight, a smile tugs at the corners of Niall’s mouth before he gives in and grins. The look of it makes Bressie feel warm down to his toes, and it’s almost _too much_. Bressie has to look away. 

Good thing, too. Bobby comes through the doors with two big brown bags full of paper-wrapped cuts and distracts them both. 

“This’ll be all of it,” Bobby says, sliding it across the counter. Bressie counts the packages as Bobby slides his card, and he swears Niall’s looking at him, can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing, hairs on his neck prickling. 

Sure enough, when Bressie looks up, Niall looks down at his phone, head dropping. Conspicuous. Bressie grins to himself, schooling his face into something neutral once Bobby turns back to him and has him sign the receipt. 

“Get the door for Brez, lad,” Bobby says, once Bressie’s got his card back and his arms are full of meat. He swats at Niall’s shoulder until Niall hops off the stool and obeys, making his way around the counter. 

The full view of him is nice, Bressie thinks, eyes to the ceiling, mind already filing away the details of his skinny legs wrapped in impossibly tight jeans, henley clinging to the sharp taper of his waist. 

If Bressie goes to hell for all this lookin’, he’ll probably deserve it.

The bell above the door chimes as Niall opens it for Bressie, stepping out so Bressie has room to move by. 

“See you Saturday,” Bressie says. It was meant to be a question, but it’s more of a statement than anything. 

“Yeah, see you Saturday,” Niall says, sounding surprised. He pushes his glasses up his nose a tick and actually smiles at Bressie, left cheek dimpling cutely. 

Walking away, Bressie tries not to think about the sun-kissed freckles on the bridge of Niall’s nose.

 

 

When Eoghan gets into town the next day, he chats shit with Bressie’s parents and talks Bressie into a round of golf and charms Bressie’s mum by doin’ all the dinner dishes. It’s good to have Eoghan around, especially since Bressie doesn’t know half the people his parents are telling stories about -- Cody from church, and Patrick “that works at the hotel, not the Tesco”, and Marsha from London. 

It’s good to have something familiar, in all of it, and Eoghan’s a grounding force -- if grounding forces were dead set on dragging Bressie out to a pub on a Thursday night for absolutely no reason at all except to get pissed and toast Ireland. 

It’s a weekday, but when they get to the pub there are people everywhere, place properly full, spilling out the door and onto the sidewalk, blue smoke clinging to the air stubbornly around those with lit cigarettes lingering too close to the door, breath ghosting out in front of them in between drags.

When they manage to shoulder their way inside, it’s homey, low lit and warm from the press of people, crowded into booths and tables. There’s a wrap-around bar top with red leather stools pushed up against it. The rest of the pub is crowded with wooden chairs and benches, lone billiard table pushed in the corner with high tops around it -- more people holding sticks than Bressie thinks there should be. There’s a tv in every corner, playing some sports channel that Bressie doesn’t recognize.

Eoghan decides he’s finding them a spot to sit, so Bressie gets the drinks, finding a spot at the bar to lean his hip against as he waits for the brunette lass dealing with orders. She takes his order in a quick voice, accent thick and strong.

While Bressie’s waiting for their pints, he scans the crowd, eyes snagging on short blonde hair like they do so often these days. And Bressie’s sure it’s one of those things again -- where his heart jumps up to his throat and he thinks about Kyle -- but his mind goes to that Niall lad instead, and sure enough, it’s him. 

No trick of the light or anything, it’s Niall. He looks good. Stupidly good. His hair’s pushed up today, stood on end like an electric shock. There’s that familiar flush to his cheek, but Bressie’s sure it’s from the empty pint glasses in front of him. He tosses his head back and laughs at whatever the person with him says.

There’s that familiar clench in Bressie’s stomach when Bressie realizes that Niall’s not wearing his glasses. He watches Niall like he can’t help himself -- the expressions on Niall’s face, the way his mouth shapes when he talks -- too far away for Bressie to hear what he’s saying. He stares at the flash of dimple, the scattered pattern of moles on Niall’s cheek, and -- 

Niall looks up, blinking at Bressie cutely as their eyes lock before his eyes dart back down. Bressie isn’t that quick, so he catches Niall looking up at him again after a beat. This time, Niall’s whole body tilts as his gaze jerks away, and Bressie turns back to the bar, resigned.

At this point, based off beauty marks _alone_ , Kyle and the little Horan boy have the be the same person. There’s no way that there are so many similarities. And Bressie honestly has no idea _how_ the cam model he found on a random internet site turned out to be the son of his parents’ _butcher_ , but there’s no other explanation for what he’s seeing -- or the way Niall’s so skittish around him.

Bressie forces himself to stop thinking about it. It’s futile. That warm knot of hope at that bottom of his belly isn’t good for anyone’s health. Instead, he orders four shots when the beers come, to help clear his head. 

Eoghan accepts the shots cheerfully when he brings them to the table, already surrounded by people who want to be his friend. Bressie grins and lets himself be pulled into the throng, refusing to think about any more blondes.

It doesn’t work. 

Niall’s constantly in Bressie’s peripheral, moving around the bar, hopping from group to group. He’s fetching beers and joining a team for billiards and stepping outside to chat with friends while they smoke. Far too easy to spot in the crowd with his bright hair and brighter smile. It keeps catching Bressie off guard, and their eyes keep meeting through the crowd, over and over. And all Bressie has to do is stop _looking_ , but he can’t help himself. 

Especially not after a few pints and shots, body warm and loose from the alcohol. He’s practically vibrating with the need to touch, thankful that Eoghan’s a clingy drunk and insists on holding onto Bressie, keeping him put. 

“Alright?” Eoghan asks, right in Bressie’s ear. Bressie swats at him and tugs at his earlobe thoughtfully.

“Sure,” he replies, with a shrug.

“Who’s on your mind?” Eoghan asks, because he knows Bressie. Bressie turns as Eoghan stands on his toes to look around the room properly, as if he’s trying to pick out who Bressie might be watching. It’s not easy -- lots of people are Bressie’s type -- but Eoghan knows Bressie doesn’t just _go after_ people, so Bressie’s not sure what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“No one important,” Bressie says, not able to lie to Eoghan. A half-truth is fine, but Eoghan’s perceptive, and Bressie’s got too much beer in him to want to try and dodge questions. 

“I don’t believe you,” Eoghan says, not to be dissuaded.

“That’s alright,” Bressie says, with a bright laugh. “Don’t need you to, mate.”

“You’re a git,” Eoghan sing-songs, but lets it drop, turning back to the conversation the girls on either side of him are having -- something about how fit women's football teams are, or something. Bressie just knows he agrees, but not the specifics. 

When he sees Niall go past again, he’s headed towards the open doors, so Bressie takes the opportunity to head in the opposite direction for a wee. The blood doesn’t all rush to his head when he stands up, so Bressie figures he’s in alright shape. Not drunk, even. 

He makes a mental note to grab some pints on the way back. 

When Bressie comes out of the bathroom, Niall’s stood in the hall, one shoulder leaning against the wall next to a framed Derby County jersey. He pushes off once he spots Bressie, grinning in a way that Bressie isn’t expecting. 

There’s a red flush to his cheeks as he steps closer, and Bressie feels way too aware of how big he is in comparison to Niall -- how much taller he is as Niall tips his head back to look at Bressie. 

“Alright?” Bressie asks, trying not to assume the worst. Really, the worst is Niall telling Bressie off for staring at him all damn night, and Bressie probably deserves that. 

“From ‘Gar, huh, _Niall_?” Niall asks, face unreadable. He’s closer now, rocking into Bressie’s space like he can’t help it -- and maybe he can’t, Bressie doesn’t know how much Niall’s put away tonight. 

“I was all kinds of worried about you being Irish and in London,” Niall says, looking away quickly. He wipes his hands on his trousers before tangling his fingers together. There’s tension in the lines of his shoulders, and Bressie wants to press his thumb into the muscle to see it would relax from the pressure. 

“‘Cause, like, us Irish find each other, right?” Niall continues, not bothering to let Bressie respond. Bressie frowns, willing his brain to catch up and stop focusing on the wide neck of Niall’s henley, the fact that he can see the bony ridge of Niall’s clavicle. “But I should have been worried about you bein’ in me hometown.”

“I’m sorry?” Bressie tries, frowning. It’s considerably quieter in the hallway by the bathrooms, and Bressie’s suddenly thankful for it, because he almost misses what Niall says. 

“Crazy coincidence, right? Both of us visiting home for the holidays,” Niall says, voice sliding smoothly into an American accent as his face goes bright red, and Bressie’s heart bangs against the inside of his ribs so hard he’s dizzy with it. 

“Oh.” 

Bressie can’t breathe properly -- he was _right_. 

“Niall, Kyle,” Niall says, shrugging his shoulders and looking away, mouth pulling into a tight line. The American accent is gone, Irish one coming out in a rush and tumble of words. “I wasn’t goin’ t’ say anything, but you’re fuckin’ everywhere and I need you t’ keep your mouth shut about it.”

Bressie blinks at Niall, stunned. “I wouldn’t say anything,” he says, slowly.

“No one knows,” Niall continues, like Bressie didn’t say anything. “Especially not Bobby. You can’t say anything at all, to anyone. Not even your _friend_ there.”

Bressie doesn’t know what to address first: the petulant tone of Niall’s voice, the fact that he thinks Bressie would say anything in the first place, or the fact that he says ‘friend’ with such disdain.

“Why would I tell Bobby?” Bressie demands. “Why would I tell _anyone_? What you do on your lonesome is none of my business.”

“Isn’t _really_ my lonesome,” Niall says, with a little snicker that manages to break up the snapping tension of the moment. Bressie giggles, pressing his smile into his shoulder. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way Niall’s face goes thoughtful as he watches Bressie.

“Alright, you know what I mean,” Bressie says, aiming for playful. It must come out just right -- Niall bites his pink bottom lip and steps closer, reaching out to circle Bressie’s wrist with his hand. 

It feels impossibly hot, even though Bressie knows it can’t be _that_ warm. When Niall looks at him, it’s through the fan of his lashes, and Bressie doesn’t even think before he’s crowding Niall against the wall. 

Niall grins at him sharply, and Bressie wonders if he can feel Bressie’s giddy pulse under the press of his fingers. 

“What was that about you pullin’ me if you ever saw me?” Bressie asks, boldly. He’s not sure where it’s coming from, but he feels a burst of confidence with Niall looking at him like he’s waiting for something.

“Maybe I want you to pull me,” Niall says, in a light voice. It’s ruined by the way he's breathing a little fast, slim chest rising and falling sharply. 

Bressie brings his hand up and cups Niall’s jaw, running his thumb along the edge, feeling the prickle of Niall’s scruff. 

“I can do that,” Bressie says, low and promising, and he knows he isn’t imagining the way Niall shivers, gaze darkening. Bressie presses his thumb to the corner of Niall’s jaw, watching his mouth go soft before Bressie leans down and kisses him. 

It’s not particularly forceful or heated, but Bressie hears Niall exhale through his nose in surprise and go boneless against the wall, hands coming up to cling at Bressie’s shoulders. Bressie palms the back of Niall’s neck to keep him in place and licks into his mouth, head spinning from how badly he wants Niall. 

“Shit, fuck,” Niall says, when they part, breathing into each other’s mouths like they can’t bear to be further away than that. “You’re so fuckin’ fit, I can’t fuckin’ believe this.”

He sounds so eager, Bressie has to lean down and bury his face in Niall’s neck, nipping at the skin there, smothering his laugh. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Bressie says, low and stupidly truthful. Niall pulls back, smiling at Bressie knowingly before adjusting his grip around Bressie’s neck so he can line them up for another kiss. 

This time, Bressie palms Niall’s hips and presses him back into the wall, lining their bodies up the best he can with the size difference. He can feel Niall biting and tugging at his bottom lip, and he tightens his grip until it’s bruising. Niall bucks into him, moan rumbling against Bressie’s chest.

“Remember what I said about smacking me around?” Niall asks, cocky tone of voice that he uses during shows. The sound of it goes straight to Bressie’s dick, like some sort of Pavlovian response.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, chief,” Bressie says, with a low chuckle. He doesn’t think he needs to remind Niall that they’re tucked in the corner of a hallway at a pub surrounded by people. _And_ , despite the fact that Bressie’s been wanking to Niall for months, they haven’t actually done _this_ before.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” Niall says, but he’s still grinding forward like he’s trying to decide if he wants to ride one out on Bressie’s leg. Bressie distracts him by sliding his fingers through Niall’s hair and wrenching his head back, sucking on his tongue when Niall gasps out loud. “We can do that later. Later, right?”

“Yeah, later,” Bressie says, feeling the thrill of the promise at the base of his spine. He can barely concentrate on kissing Niall, mind racing with all the ways he wants to touch Niall. And god, if he doesn’t stop now, he probably won’t stop at all, and it won’t be any good if they get kicked out of the bar for indecency. 

Bressie peels himself off Niall reluctantly. Niall lets him go, only looking mildly concerned. 

“Shit, Eoghan’s probably wonderin’ where the hell I am,” Bressie says. He’s still got his hands on Niall’s hips. He presses their foreheads together and breathes Niall in -- the alcohol sweat and body wash and spit from how much they were kissing. 

Niall tips his head back against the wall and threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of Bressie’s neck when Bressie ducks to suck a bruise into the side of his neck, feeling a bit possessive. 

“That your friend?” Niall asks, not able to keep his voice completely light. Bressie stares at him for a bit.

“Me best friend,” Bressie says. “Ain’t nothin’ there but that, love, you don’t have to worry.”

Niall flushes harder, looking at the ground. 

“Don’t matter either way,” Niall says, tilting his chin up again, jaw going hard. Bressie laughs softly, rubbing at the soft spot behind Niall’s ear. Some of the tension leaks out of Niall’s body as his eyelashes flutter.

“It would,” Bressie disagrees, but he doesn’t bother saying anything else, too busy pressing kisses to Niall’s cheekbones. Niall turns his head to catch Bressie’s mouth again, and they’re at it again, kissing hotly like there’s nothing around them. 

“Do you have somewhere we can go?” Niall asks, pulling back, face catching the light so Bressie can see the bright red bruise of his mouth and the steady pink of his cheeks. He looks well on his way to completely fucked. 

“I, yeah,” Bressie says, trying to catch his breath and slow down his mind. “I’m staying in me parent’s guest house.”

“Oh, guest _house_ ,” Niall says, in a teasing tone, fingers dancing along the hem of Bressie’s shirt. “Sounds like the place to be.”

“Might be,” Bressie agrees, laughing at Niall, the coy little look on his face. He sure knows how to play a man right, Bressie thinks, pushing away from the wall so that he’s not trapping Niall against it any more.

Niall follows, straightening his shirt and running his hands through his hair. There’s nothing to be done about how tousled he looks, like he’s been making out with someone in a dark corner. Which, he has, but Bressie’s past caring what anyone thinks at this point. 

He lets Niall lead the way out, hand on the small of his back. Niall doesn’t stop to say goodbye to anyone he was talking with earlier, weaving through the crowd and ducking out onto the street as quickly as possible. 

There’s a moment where Bressie forgets what’s happening -- too caught up in the way the light from the street lamp is illuminating Niall’s face, making him look soft as he tips his head to the sky like he’s judging the weather, profile impossibly beautiful -- and Niall has to raise his eyebrows like _well?_

“This way,” Bressie says, shoving his hands in his coat pocket so he doesn’t try to take Niall’s. He’s not sure Niall would object, but he doesn’t want to push it -- whatever _it_ is that they’re doing. 

Niall walks close to him, jostling against Bressie’s side as they walk, like he can’t help himself. There’s no way to tell if it’s from the drink, or whatever magnetic force seems to lie between them, but Bressie doesn’t question it, just leads Niall towards his parent’s house. 

The cold is sobering him up, making his flush recede. He’s more nervous now that the adrenaline and arousal have calmed down. It’s almost _too much_ to think about Niall coming home with him, but here they are, side-by-side. 

Niall starts to talk about Derby County, which Bressie humors. Football is a safe subject, easy to navigate. That Bressie expects, talking about football and Niall catching the game with some lads at the pub, but somehow they end up talking about golf, and Bressie’s whole chest goes warm as Niall’s face lights up enthusiastically, talking quickly and earnestly. 

Everything about Niall is completely opposite of how Bressie expected Kyle to be when he ever thought about it. Instead of the cocky jock-type, he’s softer around the edges -- seems like he could be a dorky lad underneath it all, smile painfully wide and sincere. His excitement is infectious, and Bressie forgets to be nervous when Niall’s bright grin is aimed in his direction. 

“Eoghan and I are headed out to the course tomorrow,” Bressie says, before he loses his nerve completely. If it wasn’t so cold, he’d probably be able to feel his cheek flaring up hotly. “You should tag along if you have your clubs.”

“Don’t go anywhere without my clubs,” Niall says, tipping his head back and laughing. “Might do, we’ll see.”

That’s good enough for Bressie. 

By the time they’ve made it to the gate behind his parent’s leading to the guest house, Bressie’s heart is pounding in anticipation. Next to him, Niall’s rocking back and forth on his heels, like he can’t stay still, and yeah, Bressie feels the same damn way.

He reaches over the fence to pop the latch and hold the door open for Niall. The guest house is across the yard, too far away and not far enough. Now that they’re so close, Bressie’s stomach is knotting again. 

When they get to the door, he has to unlock it. It takes a couple of tries. It’s too dark to see properly, and he has to find the key on his keyring, and his hands are shaking a little bit, and Niall’s heat is pressing up against his back like he can’t wait for Bressie to get the door open, and --

The door pops open and he goes in, Niall following right on his heels. Bressie kicks off his shoes and drops his jacket in one breath, reaching for Niall in the next. Bressie pushes Niall’s coat off his shoulders smoothly as Niall toes his own shoes off. 

He nearly trips walking Bressie backwards towards the door of the bedroom, but doesn’t, palm spread wide over Bressie’s chest, little smirk on his face. When they get through the doorway, Bressie makes an impatient noise and gets his hands on Niall’s shirt, tugging it over his head. 

Niall’s smile is bright when it comes off, hair sticking up from the drag of the cotton. Bressie has to kiss him again, can’t help himself when Niall’s looking so fucking adorable. Niall’s up on his toes as Bressie reels him in close, squeaking when Bressie palms his arse and hoists him up, legs locking around Bressie’s waist tightly. 

Bressie kicks at the door to close it, pressing Niall up against the wood before pressing their lips together harshly. It’s more frantic this time. Demanding, all-consuming. Niall bites at Bressie’s bottom lip and digs his nails into Bressie’s shoulders, sweet noises spilling from his mouth. 

His hips shift minutely, and Bressie can feel the hard line of Niall’s cock against his abs. 

“Eager there, little one,” Bressie says, with a low chuckle, once he can find his voice. Niall whimpers, biting along Bressie’s jaw and up to his ear, teeth dragging along Bressie’s lobe, making him shiver. 

“Isn’t that the idea?” Niall asks, with a cheeky hump forward that has Bressie shifting his grip on Niall’s arse so he can tease a finger down the crease of Niall’s jeans, making Niall shudder, eyes going impossibly darker. 

“I think that’s the idea,” Bressie says, lowly, and Niall’s head tips back as he laughs, giving Bressie the opportunity to set his teeth to the thick muscle of his throat. The moan that comes from Niall sounds surprised, nails digging into the back of Bressie’s neck. 

“Aw fuck,” Niall whimpers, breathless. He doesn’t make any move to stop Bressie, so Bressie keeps pulling at the skin with his teeth and lips, tongue pressing along the bruise firmly. 

There’s going to be a mark, Bressie thinks, licking over Niall’s skin like a kitten once he’s done. There’s going to be a mark that’s sore and purpling, and Bressie knows he’s going to want to press his thumb into it when he sees Niall next, reminding them both that he put it there.

Bressie laughs and grips Niall’s arse tighter, spinning them so he can dump Niall on the bed. 

Niall goes with a giggle, hands already on his belt before he settles. He pushes off his trousers, leaving on the white briefs underneath. There’s already a wet patch of precome soaking the fabric as Niall grinds his palm against himself, eyes fluttering. 

“Look at ye,” Bressie says, hoarsely. “Still puttin’ on a show.”

“You know me,” Niall says, glint in his eyes as he shoves his hand down the front of his pants and grips himself. “Lemme see you, Bres.”

Bressie obliges, stripping out of everything in blink. His cock’s hard, downright aching. The look Niall gives it is ravenous. 

“C’mere,” he says, pushing up on his hands, scooting to the edge of the bed. His eyes are wide, mouth gone slack in that way that it does when he’s turned on. A little thrill works its way up Bressie’s spine over the fact that he _knows_ that; knows Niall’s face like this, too worked up to speak in sentences. “Bressie, c’mere.”

Bressie steps into the vee of Niall’s legs, and Niall tugs him in by the back of his thighs and licks a stripe all the way up Bressie’s dick without warning. 

“Holy shit,” Bressie says, threading his fingers through Niall’s thick hair. When Niall hums his approval, Bressie twists his fingers, tugging sharply, watching Niall’s eyelids flutter shut. 

“Fuck, just --” Niall get his hand on Bressie’s dick and guides it into mouth. It’s wet and warm and tight, and Bressie’s hips stutter forward on accident, pushing into the heat. Niall pulls off immediately, hacking, eyes wet.

“Shit, sorry,” Bressie says, loosening his grip on Niall’s hair so he can run a thumb under Niall’s eye to catch the wetness on his lashes. The look Niall gives Bressie is unreadable, but he turns his head and nuzzles into Bressie’s palm.

“I talk a lot of shite on cam,” Niall says, licking at his lips. “I have a horrid gag reflex, you gotta be gentle.”

“I can do that,” Bressie says, with a low chuckle, hand on Niall’s jaw to guide him back down. Bressie keeps still as Niall works him over with his mouth, taking the rest of Bressie’s cock in his hand. There’s a trail of spit from Niall’s mouth to his knuckles, pooling there. 

It’s easy to see, even in the low light of the room, and Bressie feels the extra slide when Niall moves his hand. It’s almost too intense to keep watching when Niall refuses to drop his gaze, keeping his eyes on Bressie, darker than Bressie’s ever seen them, cheeks hollowing out to keep a tight suction around Bressie’s dick. 

He’s palming the back of Niall’s head again, guiding him back down and letting him up. It’s hard to keep upright when Niall’s tongue drags along the bottom of his shaft before he presses it under the sensitive crown of the head. 

“Fuck, you look so good,” Bressie says, voice lower and rougher than it was before. Niall hums in acknowledgement. “Takin’ me so well, Niall. Knew you would. Been thinkin’ about my dick in your mouth.”

Niall pulls off with a slurp, mouth soft and red, wet down his chin. 

“Wish I could deep throat you like I said,” Niall says, hoarsely. “Want to feel you in the back of me throat.”

“You could feel me other places,” Bressie says, pushing Niall back until he’s laid out on the bed, looking up at Bressie like he doesn’t know what to expect. 

“Fuck, _please_ ,” Niall says, arching the small of his back when Bressie presses his thumbs into the soft skin at his waist. “Been thinking about your cock inside of me.”

“Yeah?” Bressie asks, feeling too warm from Niall’s honesty.

“Went out and bought a big arse dildo to see if I could take it,” Niall says, cheeks ruddy red. The skin of his neck and chest is going pink as well, and Bressie doesn’t know if it’s excitement or embarrassment or just the promise of sex that’s got him looking like this. 

“Bet you did so well,” Bressie says, sounding way too raw, running his hands up the smooth insides of Niall’s thighs. The hair’s downy soft here, barely any leading up to Niall’s cock, the dirty blonde curls there. Bressie wants to press his face between Niall’s legs and never come up for air. 

“Took a lot of prep, but I managed,” Niall says, face bright and earnest. “Think I could do you.”

Bressie presses his forehead to Niall’s thigh to hide his laughter, insides tangling up hotly. The fact that Niall thought about him after their call, specifically his _prick_ , is hilarious and endearing, and Bressie doesn’t know what to do with the riot of butterflies that won’t settle in his stomach. 

Leaning up, he rewards Niall’s efforts with a kiss and a tight grip of his dick, jerk him hard and dry. 

“Is that what you want to do?” Bressie asks, once they’ve pulled away. The look on Niall’s face is slightly dazed, so Bressie waits him out patiently. 

“Get fucked?”

“Yeah,” Bressie laughs. To his delight, Niall laughs back.

“ _Please_.”

The lube’s in his suitcase, so Bressie has to force himself to find it. He fishes out a handful of condoms and dumps them on the nightstand before turning back to Niall. He’s fisting his cock lazily, eyes on Bressie, smile on his lips. 

The head of his prick is rosy, glistening with precome. The sight makes Bressie’s mouth water a bit as he gets back on the bed and settles between Niall’s legs. He leans down and licks around Niall’s fingers, tasting the bitterness at the tip. 

“Fuck,” Niall whines, as Bressie mouths at his knuckles. 

“About to,” Bressie says, pulling back enough to get his situated between Niall’s legs properly.

“You don’t have to be careful,” Niall says, slinging an arm over his eyes. Bressie leans up to bite him on the chest, but all that does is make Niall arch and groan. Which, isn’t bad. 

He gives up the idea of fingering Niall open in favor of pinning him down by the hips and using his mouth to suck bruises into Niall’s ribs and stomach, teeth dragging over every boney ridge. Niall writhes underneath him, moans getting higher the longer Bressie bites down in one place, hand dragging through Bressie’s hair over and over. 

There are a few good spots blooming over Niall’s skin when Bressie finally lets up, moving to the hard nubs of Niall’s nipples, setting his teeth there, tugging, rolling them between his fingers when he pulls back until they’re deeply red, and Niall’s fisting the sheets and wiggling his hips. 

“Fuck me, Bressie, please, _please_.” Niall’s watching him with fever-bright eyes, desperate, and Bressie wouldn’t dream of telling him no, so he doesn’t. 

He leans back down and nudges Niall’s legs apart, getting his shoulder under one of them so Niall’s hips spread easier for him. The discarded lube is tangled in the blanket, but Bressie manages to find it, popping the cap and squirming some into his fingers.

Niall’s still staring at him impatiently. All Bressie does is smile before pressing the first finger to Niall’s rim, watching as Niall goes pliant. Niall’s body is beautifully responsive as he adds another, working it in and out before adding a third. 

“Look at you, opening right up,” Bressie says, trying to keep the awe out of his voice, too much of a contrast to the way Niall’s trying to fuck himself down on Bressie’s fingers, hands twisting in the sheets, sweat on his chest and at his hairline. 

“I -- f-fuck toys for a living, mate,” Niall says, breathing hard. Ruins the effect a bit when he can barely get the words out, Bressie thinks smugly. 

“Right, I forgot,” Bressie says, sarcastically, making Niall burst into giggles. It should completely clash with the sexy desperation they’ve got going on, but if anything, it makes Bressie want him even more, obsessed with the curve of Niall’s smile.

“I’m ready,” Niall says, sounding impatient. He nearly jumps when Bressie curves his fingers and presses in deep, letting out a long groan. On either side of Bressie, Niall’s legs twitch hard, like he wants to snap them shut but can’t with Bressie in the way. “I’m ready, so ready. Bressie --”

“Alright, calm yourself,” Bressie says, fumbling for a condom. He tears at the foil with his teeth, but has to pull his fingers out to roll it on. Niall whimpers at the loss, but stays still as he waits, legs still open and inviting. 

From there, it feels like a rush, like everything tumbles together when Bressie finally presses in, feeding Niall his prick inch by inch as Niall whimpers Bressie’s name and drags his nails down Bressie’s arms, leaving a stinging path in their wake. 

It doesn’t take long for their hips to sit flush, for Niall to dig his heels into Bressie’s back and urge him to move. Bressie falls onto his elbows, fucks forward, and kisses Niall until he can’t breathe properly. 

They pant against each other’s mouths as Bressie thrusts with long, hard strokes, changing the angle until Niall’s crying out and scrambling at his shoulders for something to hold onto, skin slapping loudly as Bressie sinks into a harsh rhythm.

Bressie’s got him folded nearly in half, and Niall’s moaning for more, _harder harder harder_ , under his breath until Bressie snaps up his wrists and shoves them into the mattress, pinning him down for leverage and going for it, thighs starting to burn as Niall whimpers underneath him. 

Bressie wonders if Niall can feel the pull in his shoulders, the way his hands are pinned above his head -- wonders just how long they can go like this for; Bressie drilling into him roughly and Niall just taking it so well, body opening up for Bressie so beautifully. 

“Fuck you feel so good,” Niall says as Bressie curves down to bite at his neck, his shoulder, anywhere his mouth can reach as their chests press together. “I can feel you all the way in me stomach, Bres. Your fuckin’ dick --”

Bressie growls and lets Niall’s wrists go, tugging him in by the small of his back as he rocks back into a kneeling position, hoisting Niall off the bed completely, hands cupping Niall’s arse for leverage and fucks into him. Trapped between Bressie’s hands and his torso, Niall curls up, pressing his head to Bressie’s chest, gripping Bressie’s shoulders and groaning loudly, unable to even squirm on Bressie’s cock. 

“Bressie, fuck, I need --”

“Just a little longer pet,” Bressie says around a moan, wrapping his arm all way around Niall’s back and crushing their chests together so he can free up his other hand and tug on Niall’s hair, steering him into a kiss that’s more teeth than anything else. 

Niall whimpers loudly against Bressie’s mouth as Bressie fucks in deeper and deeper, trying to find the perfect angle. As soon as he hits it, Niall sobs, cock jumping against Bressie’s belly. 

“That’s it,” Bressie says, encouragingly, gasping as Niall tightens around him. “That’s it. Can you come like this?”

“No, fuck no,” Niall says, pulling back so Bressie can see his face, the wetness at the corners of his eyes and the bright flush to his face. He’s red all the way down his chest, mouth bit and swollen. “I need you to touch my dick, Bressie.”

Bressie chuckles delightedly and nudges his nose to Niall’s cheek so Niall will kiss him, sucking on his tongue as Bressie eases Niall onto his back again. They stay pressed together like that for a moment -- kissing harshly, Niall boneless underneath Bressie as he lies there -- then Bressie pulls back and thrusts in, and Niall’s arching hard again, nails scrambling at Bressie’s back.

When Bressie gets his hand around Niall’s dick, Niall’s whole body curls into it. 

“Holy shit, holy -- Bressie, Bres --” He’s chanting Bressie’s name, body going rigid, thighs quivering as he digs his toes into the mattress. “ _Bressie_ , I fucking swear to -- fuck --”

“You always this blasphemous when you’re in bed, pet?” Bressie grunts, twisting his wrist in a way that makes Niall let out another string of curses.

“Fuck -- off --” Niall says, eyes screwed shut, head twisted to the side like he can get away from it. Bressie’s shaking, holding himself up and trying to wank Niall off at the same time, thrusting careful and controlled when all he wants to do is jack rabbit forward and come inside Niall. 

He wants Niall to come first, though, so he keeps it up, thrusting and tugging at Niall’s cock until Niall’s whining and squirming and saying Bressie’s name -- bit off like a swear word, all hard and harsh -- before coming all over his knuckles and up his belly. Bressie plants both his palms and thrusts harder as Niall wraps his legs around Bressie’s waist and pulls him in, tightening around Bressie’s cock until Bressie’s coming so hard his vision goes white. 

When Bressie catches his breath, he’s got Niall’s fingers carding through his hair, and he doesn’t want to move even though he’s squishing Niall underneath him. Niall doesn’t say anything, but Bressie rolls off anyway, dick slipping out, both of them groaning at the loss.

Niall sits up while Bressie ties up the condom and chucks it in the trash next to the end table, frowning down at the mess on his torso. 

“Here,” Bressie says, groping around for the shirt he was wearing earlier and tossing it at Niall for him to clean up with. When he looks closely, he can see Niall’s pulse fluttering in his neck, right next to the big purple bruise Bressie worked into the skin there earlier. Something warm and lovely makes itself known at the bottom of Bressie’s stomach.

“You staying?” Bressie asks, aiming for nonchalant. His voice is all rough and fucked out, barely sounds like him. Niall’s picks up his head to look at Bressie, and Bressie shrugs. “I like to cuddle.”

Niall keeps looking at him for a minute before the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Yeah, alright. I’m big spoon, though.”

“You a little jet pack, then?” Bressie asks, shuffling closer. He wraps his hand around the back of Niall’s neck and presses his thumb to the hickey to see the way Niall’s eyes flutter. There’s a tight feeling in Bressie’s chest, a knot of excitement that he gets this; gets Niall in his bed, gets to wake up to Niall in the morning. He can’t help the way he’s grinning helplessly.

“Guess so,” Niall says, grinning back.

 

 

There’s a sleepy fog in Bressie’s brain when he wakes up, body heavy with how sore his muscles are. He blinks his eyes open, frowning at the weak light filtering through the curtains over the window. It’s either overcast, or still early morning. It’s hard to tell most days. 

He frowns, trying to remember what he’s supposed to do today, stretching, pressing his shoulders into the mattress. Memories tumble into place as his brain wakes up, and he freezes, processing the empty space next to him on the mattress. 

Oh.

Bressie squeezes his eyes shut, taking a couple of deep breathes. There’s no Niall curled up next to him. The door to the bathroom is open, dark inside. From what he can hear, the rest of the guest house is silent and still. Eoghan’s snores drift in from the other room where he’s passed out on the fold out couch, but there’s nothing else. 

When he rolls over, his phone is nowhere in sight. It’s probably still in the pocket of his coat or trousers, battery ridiculously low. He throws the blankets off himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed, forcing himself to get up. He wants to sleep for a dozen more hours, but he needs to charge his phone and figure out what time it is, and try not to think about the fact that Niall definitely left while he was asleep. 

The trousers he wore last night are in heap on the floor not to far from the bed, so he tugs them towards him and shifts through the pockets. When he digs out his phone, the battery is yellow and the clock reads 8:05 AM. Which is probably too early to even be awake, considering how late it was when they fell asleep last night. 

Bressie falls back against the bed and plugs his phone in, double and triple checking the alarm that will get him up for golf later. He lets himself look through the contacts and texts, even though he knows Niall won’t be there.

Before he drifts off again, he lets himself feel the disappointment right -- stupidly morose that Niall isn’t there, anxious about when they might run into each other next. Before he falls asleep, he thinks about the way Niall pressed his grin into the pillow and slotted their legs together before they fell asleep, and aches.

The next time he wakes up, he feels a little better. Not by a massive amount, but enough to get up and shoot a thousands texts at Eoghan to make sure he’s awake, able to hear the notifications going off through the door. 

After the tenth chime or so, Bressie hears a disgruntled, “fuck off!” That satisfies him enough to leave it be and head towards the shower.

There are bags under Bressie’s eyes when he looks at his reflection, cheeks a little sunken in from drinking and not getting enough sleep. Red bruises from Niall’s mouth litter his chest, one bite on the side of his neck just high enough to make a claim. 

A red-hot shiver runs down Bressie’s spine as he thinks about Niall’s teeth set to Bressie’s skin, marking him up. It hurts, almost, like Bressie can see the imprints of Niall’s hands on him still. 

He needs to stop thinking about it, but the evidence is visible all over him and tangible in the ache of his muscles, far too difficult to ignore. He does his best -- showering and toweling off and getting dressed. 

Eoghan’s got the kettle going when Bressie comes out of the room and a mug ready for him. Grunting in thanks, Bressie digs up a protein bar to accompany his morning tea, slumping into the high stool at the counter and letting Eoghan regale him with stories of what happened after he left the pub -- something about desperately seeking waffles before he managed to make his way back.

The weather’s perfect for a round. Calm without a breeze, clouds drifting in and out. There’s a bite of cold to the air, but nothing that makes Bressie want to go back indoors. They chat shit for the first couple of holes, but it doesn’t take long for Eoghan to catch on to the fact that Bressie’s not all with it.

“Feelin’ last night?” Eoghan asks, nudging their shoulders together as they walk towards Bressie’s ball. Shoving a hand through his hair, Bressie shrugs, stomach churning uncomfortably.

“No hangover,” he says, attempting to sound bright. It barely sounds convincing. That’s true enough. He’s sore and could use a nap, but there’s none of that gross feeling lingering. 

“What’s up with ye, then?” Eoghan asks, raising both eyebrows all too knowingly. “Is this about that little Niall lad you went home with?”

“Did’ya see us leave?” Bressie asks, with a wince. Out here on the green, there’s no escape from this conversation, even if Bressie wishes there were. It’s just them and the grass and waking up to an empty bed on replay in Bressie’s head.

“Everyone did, mate,” Eoghan says, voice going low. For someone who like his jokes, he knows when to take things seriously. At the moment, Bressie’s not sure if he appreciates it. 

“Alright, then,” Bressie says, with a smile that doesn’t sit quite right on his face. He lets all his anxieties spiral for a moment -- wondering what people thought of Bressie leaving with someone so young, whether or not they said anything to his parents or Bobby, if anyone’s seen Niall and said anything to him, if they could tell how damn eager he was to get out of there with Niall… 

He shuts it down as quickly as he can, but something must flash across his face.

“Somethin’ happen then?” Eoghan asks, trying to seem casual, but Bressie can see his eyes dart down to the mark on Bressie’s neck curiously. 

“You know it did,” Bressie says, with a shrug. “Left before I woke up, he did.”

“Oh, that’s a tough one, innit,” Eoghan says, face all screwed up sympathetically. Bressie takes a deep breath; Eoghan doesn’t know the half of it. 

“Yeah, well. It happens.” And Bressie doesn’t even bother hiding the disappointment in his voice. Eoghan knows exactly how he feels about unpredictable morning afters. He makes a sympathetic sound at Bressie, clapping a hand to his shoulder. 

“Hopefully you’ll be able to avoid him after the party, right?” he says, all faux cheerful. Bressie appreciates the effort. 

“Right, the party,” Bressie says, heaving a sigh. He forgot about tomorrow and the party, and the fact that Bobby Horan and his boy are definitely going to be there. If it’s even possible, Eoghan’s face gets even more sympathetic. 

“It’ll be fine,” he says, with a bright smile. 

It’s not fine.

Saturday rolls around, and Bressie’s a mess of anxiety. As hard as he’s trying _not_ to be anxious, he’s sweat through a shirt already and had to change, stomach going all tight when more and more people arrive. 

If his parents notice anything’s amiss, they don’t mention it, but his dad keeps him busy, sending him running all over the house for food and place settings and an extra table. Between having to meet a slew of new people and attempting to help with the grill, he has to make a run to Tesco for more drinks. On the way back, he gets a text that they’ve ran out of paper plates and has to turn around, which eats up more of his time. When he finally gets back to the house, there are people spilling out of the door and crowding the yard, holding drinks and laughing, all undercut with music from the large stand up speakers one of the blokes who works at the pub brought along. 

It’s a proper bash. Bressie can tell his mum’s ecstatic, bouncing around and being friendly. He does his best to keep up with the people and pace of the party. It manages to keep him from being nervous for a while, too caught up in introductions and refilling the drink cooler and checking on the food when his mum asks him to. 

It’s only when he _sees_ Niall that he remembers how anxious he was this morning, waking up with a pit in the bottom of his stomach.

Niall looks gorgeous, hair artfully styled with brown glasses back in place. The cozy grey jumper he’s wearing looks perfect against the peach pink of his skin. There’s a hot jolt in Bressie’s stomach when he realizes that Niall’s wearing a turtleneck on purpose, that there are probably bruises left on his neck from Bressie’s mouth, and Bressie really can’t be in the room with him right now. 

The answer obvious solution is to avoid Niall, so Bressie does just that. He finds himself on the other side of the house distractedly helping his dad, one eye peeled for Niall. After being useless for a bit, his dad shoos him away, making him find his mum. She doesn’t need his help, though, and chases him away from the grill when he starts to hover. 

Without anything to do, Bressie drifts to the ice chest and grabs a beer, looking out for Eoghan. Before Bressie manages to spot him, he’s stopped by Bobby, and -- alright, Bressie wasn’t expecting _that_. He shouldn’t be surprised, seeing how they’re in the same place and Bobby’s always interested in making small talk, but it makes him clam up all the same when Bobby asks how he’s doing.

Bressie mumbles answers around a sip of beer, trying to keep track of the conversation while half his mind is off wondering where Niall got too, if he’ll be looking for his dad soon. 

“You seem distracted, lad,” Bobby says, with a smile that’s a touch too knowing for Bressie’s comfort level. He has the horrible thought that someone probably mentioned Thursday night to Bobby already, and wants to leave immediately.

“Been a hectic day,” Bressie says, with a shrug, feeling his face heat up. “Been running around like a chicken with me head cut off.”

“‘Course you have,” Bobby says, smile widening. He sounds like Niall, it makes Bressie fidget. “Gotta help out while you’re here, don’t ya?”

“Definitely,” Bressie agrees, emphatically. “Back to London too soon.” As weird as the trip to Mullingar has been for him this time around, it’s calm, and he loves the way Ireland settles his blood like nowhere else can. 

“Niall’s leaving soon too,” Bobby says, mouth twisting down. Bressie looks at the bottle in his hand instead of Bobby’s face, picking at the label.

“Right on time for his term, right?” Bressie asks, trying to mask the fact that his stomach is fluttering mess of butterflies. In the corner of his eye, there’s a flash of grey; Bressie picks his head up and sees Niall watching the two of them, weight shifting like he doesn’t know whether or not to intervene. Bressie keeps his face neutral, looks back at Bobby. 

“That he is,” Bobby says. It feels like he’s watching Bressie closely, waiting for something, but it’s possible Bressie’s being paranoid all things considered. “‘Spose he could use a friend in London.”

Bressie barks out a laugh at that, surprised. “I’m sure he has loads of friends.” What Bressie doesn’t say is that Niall doesn’t need -- or seemingly _want_ \-- Bressie around. 

“Right,” Bobby says slowly, eyebrows quirking up. Something hot drops in Bressie’s stomach, and he feels a lecture coming on. “Bit different, innit?”

“Different?” Bressie asks.

“Having another Irishman around,” Niall says, interrupting smoothly. He slides into the space next to Bobby and hip checks his dad, eyes dipping down to Bressie’s neck before meeting his eyes again, reminding Bressie of the fading bruise on there. 

“Right, of course,” Bressie says, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from going tight as he and Niall look at each other. The image of an empty bed is shoving itself to the forefront of Bressie’s mind, and he doesn’t like the fact that he can’t interpret the look on Niall’s face. 

“I need a top up,” Bobby says brightly, after a beat. Bressie startles. He forgot Bobby was standing there. “Need anything, boys?”

“No, thank you,” Bressie and Niall say at the same time. Bobby’s mouth twitches in amusement, but he turns, leaving Bressie with Niall. An awkward silence stretches between them, and Bressie doesn’t miss how everyone’s floated off towards the house, leaving them with plenty of space. 

“Well, that’s not obvious at all,” Niall says, with a snort. There’s coloring blooming high on his cheeks, and Bressie’s hand twitches at his side, wanting to touch. “I swear, this whole village is full of gossips.”

“Eoghan mentioned that,” Bressie admits, taking another drink. The bottle’s still too full for the direction this conversation is headed in. “Everyone saw us --”

“Yeah,” Niall interrupts, waving it off with one of his hands. “Bound to happen, right?”

“Right,” Bressie says, clearing his throat. Niall’s body language reads like a spooked rabbit -- muscles tense and alert, eyes on Bressie -- and Bressie has no idea what to do with that, what he _can_ do with that. 

“I should probably…” Niall trails off, tilting his head towards the house, edging away. Bressie’s whole heart slams to the top of his throat and he can’t keep himself from reaching out to touch Niall’s arm lightly. 

Niall looks at Bressie’s hand then Bressie and sways back, face expectant like he wasn’t about to bolt. 

Bressie has no idea what to say, is the thing. Niall leaving might have been disappointing, but Bressie doesn’t have the right to demand an explanation; he wasn’t promised anything, he shouldn’t have been expecting anything. It’s silly, how much he wants to know what the hell is going on in Niall’s head, but he really does. 

They don’t speak for a long time, just look at each other until it gets to be too much. Bressie looks away with a sigh, not knowing what to do. 

“You didn’t want me to leave,” Niall asks, slowly. Bressie’s head jerks up in surprise, and he coughs out a laugh, seeing the frown on Niall’s face. Christ, he doesn’t _know_?

“Why else would I ask you to stay, pet?” Bressie huffs, hand tightening on his beer bottle. 

“I don’t know,” Niall says, cheeks very red. The embarrassment is obvious, but his eyes still glitter fiercely up at Bressie, and Bressie can’t keep a smile off his face. “Get the full experience, maybe?”

“The full exper --”

“Look, I --” Niall twists, looking around. The rest of the guests are by the food now, meat all cooked up. The music’s loud enough to cover their conversation. Niall seems to realize this and whirls around again. “I know you watch me every week, okay? I know finding each other _here_ was a coincidence, because you looked about as spooked as I did at Tesco, but I also know that this --” he gestures down to his body -- “that’s what you’re after right?”

“Niall --”

“No, fuck,” Niall says, waving Bressie away again, nose scrunching up. “I fuckin’ get it okay, like if I was you and you were me, I’d be all over it too, but that’s -- that’s not me.” Niall chuckles, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’m not _Kyle_. Like, we can fuck and you can pretend I’m an American uni student who plays _soccer_ , but that’s not me.”

“I know --”

“Do you?” Niall demands, voice dropping low, like he’s doing it to keep himself from being louder. “It gets confusing alright, I’m not -- It’s not me, but it is my _job_. It’s not a hobby, it’s how I make money.”

“I know,” Bressie says again, gentler this time. He’s not an idiot, he has a feeling Niall’s been through something similar before. Someone he met through the site, or knew about the site -- whatever it was, Bressie doesn’t think it went well. 

“You don’t,” Niall says, forcefully. He looks a bit panicked, and Bressie has the overwhelming urge to cup the back of his head and drag his fingers through the hair there to try and soothe Niall. Niall huffs, sounding more resigned. “Everyone’s alright with fucking the camboy, but dating the camboy is an entirely different fucking story.”

“You’re not even giving me a chance, love,” Bressie says, low and honest. He can’t help it. He can’t chase away how much he wants this, wants Niall. The sex was more amazing than he imagined, but it’s killing him that he missed seeing Niall first thing in the morning -- missed the sleepy slow blinks of his bright blue eyes and the pillow creases on his face, and getting to make him tea. 

And he wants to know what comes after that. He wants to know how well Niall plays golf and if he dresses like a posh middle aged bloke at home in London, too. He wants to know if the glasses are a most-of-the-time thing, or a lazy-holiday thing. He wants to make Niall a fry up after a pub crawl and make out with him on the train and find out what movies he watches, if he reads books or hates ‘em. 

He wants all the bits and pieces, wants to dismantle Kyle in his brain and fill it up all the _Niall_ things that he doesn’t know. It might be daft or desperate; it might not work out, but he wants to try.

Niall tilts his chin up, stubborn and unyielding, and Bressie likes it so much he feels like laughing. “You want to date me?”

“Yes,” Bressie says, so enthusiastic that the corners of Niall’s mouth twitch as he looks around to see if anyone’s paying attention to them. Bressie’s sure they are, but they’re all doing an ace job of pretending they’re not straining their ears, even if he and Niall are far too quiet for them to hear.

“You’re gunna be able to deal with the fact that for like, nine to twelve hours out of the week I disappear to wank off in front of a bunch of strangers?”

That bit he says low, practically a whisper. His jaw’s clenched tight, and Bressie can’t keep himself from touching, running his hand over the tense muscle until Niall notices and breathes out, mouth going soft. 

“I want to try,” Bressie says. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how he’s gunna feel, but he respects whatever the hell Niall wants to do. If that’s what he does, then fuck, Bressie doesn’t _care_. 

“You don’t even _know me_ ,” Niall says, exhaling. It’s a weak effort to continue arguing, and Niall seems to know, shoulders going slack as Bressie traces the ridge of his cheekbone, trailing back over the shell of Niall’s ear -- it’s soft, intimate. Bressie’s hand drops to cup the side of Niall’s neck, pressing his thumb over the neck of Niall’s jumper, where he knows the bruises are. 

Niall breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. 

“I want to know you,” Bressie says, softly, almost to himself. Niall’s eyes open again, and he looks at Bressie warily, watching. “I’m not gunna be able to watch your show now that I know what you’re really like. Can't see Kyle as anything other than an act now, can I? It’s this or nothin’, and I don’t want nothin’.”

Niall’s face does something complicated before he admits, “I don’t want nothin’ either.”

Bressie grins at him big and stupid, and Niall ducks his head with a loud, “yeah, yeah,” before surging up on his toes and pressing their mouths together, wrapping his arms around Bressie’s neck. Head spinning, Bressie kisses Niall back hard, pulling him close, holding him tight. 

Behind them, the backyard erupts into applause and Niall breaks away with a loud bark of laughter, a big _haw haw haw_ that has Bressie laughing just as loudly. 

“Yeah, alright,” Niall says, kissing at Bressie’s face again. He pulls back and smiles, face red and a little breathless. Bressie doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more gorgeous sight in his life. “I’m all yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [main tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/), [nessie tumblr](http://bressieniall.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
